


a fairer house

by weatheredlaw



Series: tenderness of heart [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Pride and Prejudice References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is news the day the Wilde’s move to the Triburrows – but Judy, who dreams of publishing her large volume of rejected writings, can't be bothered with them. Not even when their son catches her eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. impetuous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adrieunor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrieunor/gifts).



> the regency/pride and prejudice AU, as promised. <3
> 
> update, 1/31/18: this fic has been _recorded_ on youtube by the very kind The Writing Lefty. You can listen to Chapters 1-3 [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4vOtXcLm-c&t=931s) and Chapters 4-7 [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UX6QPrcLFw&t=1027s)!

I dwell in Possibility –  
A fairer House than Prose –  
More numerous of Windows –  
Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –  
Impregnable of eye –  
And for an everlasting Roof  
The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –  
For Occupation – This –  
The spreading wide my narrow Hands  
To gather Paradise –

                Emily Dickinson, _I Dwell In Possibility_

 

* * *

 

It is _news_ the day the Wilde’s move to the Triburrows – not necessarily because of who they are, but more specifically because of where they came from. The city is some hundred miles away, well out of Judy’s line of sight, and never close enough for her to imagine. It’s Abby who has the news, but then, it is always Abby with the news.

“They have _eleven_ carriages, I heard.” She passes the bread down the table.

Their eldest brother, Ben, asks, “From who? You never hear anything true from anyone.”

“No bickering at the table, please.” Their mother seats herself at the far end. “And no gossiping, either. Have you heard anything, Judy?”

“No.” She chews carefully on a radish. “I don’t concern myself with the comings and goings of flighty nobles and the number of carriages they have.”

“Yes,” Abby says. “Judy is far more concerned with the novel no one will ever publish, or the stories no one will ever read.”

“I don’t get in the way of your gossip mongering,” she says coolly. “You’ll do well to leave my personal habits alone.”

“Girls.” Their father does his best to act the role of stern patriarch, but if falls flat.

“It hardly matters that you aren’t interested in the Wilde’s,” Abby snaps. “You couldn’t expect them to feel the same. They _have_ a son,” she adds.

“They’re _foxes_ ,” Judy says. “Or did that bit of information slip between your ears this morning?”

Abby puffs her cheeks and returns to poking silently at her dinner.

“Is that true?” their mother asks.

“I went into town to get paper. I heard it from several sources.”

Their father grunts. “I suppose that’s a bit more common in the city.”

“They’re philanthropists,” Judy says. “Their _son_ is adopted, it’s not a secret.”

“That’s enough talk of this nonsense.” Their mother lifts one of the smaller girls into her lap, giving her a carrot to chew on. “A mouth caught in idle gossip is as bad as hands without work. Stu, honey, they’re throwing the cabbage at the _wall._ ” Dinner conversation shifts, Abby pouts, and Judy puts thoughts of the Wilde’s from her mind completely.

 

* * *

 

Every few days, their mother sends Judy into town to do the shopping. Others have been sent in her place before, but none can quite manage the efficiency or quick wittedness that Judy has mastered. The town in busy, but Judy is always one step ahead. Perhaps daydreaming, yes, but with _purpose._

She plans to be a novelist before her life is through.

Nothing she’s written has been published. They tell her – and “they” is often any number of family members, friends, or people who reject her work – a _woman_ does not become a writer, nor does any respectable rabbit seek fame and fortune. Judy wants neither – she simply wants to be read.

Her last stop is always the paper shop. Today she needs ink – she’s been adding water and bits of charred wood from the fireplace to her well for weeks now. The coins in the purse at her waist clamor to be spent on the things she loves the most – poems, this month, a collection she’s admired for a long time – but ink is a necessity. Abby and the girls are beginning to complain that all her writing smells like a furnace.

The shop is musty, cold, and empty. It is always this way, and precisely how Judy prefers it. There are voices from the back, low murmurs that don’t faze her. She’ll peruse for a bit, and buy what she wants when Mr. Humboldt comes out of the store room – she can hear his hooves click against the wood of the floor, the bright, clear voice of whoever is with him. A relative she doesn’t know? A friend she’s never met?”

“—take the parcels with me, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, of course.” Mr. Humboldt comes into the light of the store, looking up and smiling. “Ah, Judy! I wondered if you’d be back today. Have you met Nicholas?” From behind him, the young Wilde boy appears, one paw slid casually into the pocket of his trousers, the other clutching a box wrapped in twine. “This is Judy,” Mr. Humboldt explains. “She’s my _best_ customer.”

“Oh?” Wilde looks her over. “Is that a challenge, then?”

Humboldt laughs. “Hardly! Are you here for more paper, dear?”

“Ink,” she says, and imagines her voice is steady.

It’s been a long time since she’s seen another fox. Her paws grip the basket of her mother’s purchases, and she moves, hoping it hides the gentle tremor running through her.

“Writing something important?” The fox leans against the counter. Judy looks straight ahead.

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business, sir.”

“You’re a Hopps girl, aren’t you?”

Judy sniffs. “Again, I don’t see how that’s any business of yours, but, yes, I am. Will that be a problem for you?”

“No, not at all. Learning about my neighbors is all.”

“We aren’t neighbors, sir.” Judy reaches out to take the now-boxed ink, trading it for a handful of coins. “Thank you, Mr. Humboldt.” She turns. “Mr. Wilde,” she says, “if you’ll excuse me.” She maneuvers out of the store and onto the street. It’s a relief to be away from the suffocating tension, and Judy wonders if he felt it the same as she, felt the instinct to _run_ , as she had years ago, scrambling to get as far away from Gideon Grey as she could –

“Miss Hopps!” Wilde catches up with her on the sidewalk. “You should let me carry your things, we’re going in the same direction.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She doesn’t acknowledge him, or slow down.

“At least let me give you a ride back to your home.”

“That won’t be any more necessary than your previous offer, Mr. Wilde. I appreciate the courtesy, but I walk home the exact same way each and every time I do this. I _don’t_ need _help._ ”

“I’m only trying—”

Judy spins around, narrowing her eyes. Their gazes catch. She does not flinch.

“Go _home_ , Mr. Wilde. And good day.”

He doesn’t follow her after that, but she hears him from behind, a soft, “And you as well, Miss Hopps.” He’s certainly _grinning_ as he says it, she suspects, but she won’t give him the satisfaction of turning her head. She walks, exactly as she always does, and is home before dinner.

 

* * *

 

Their run-in at the paper shop is hardly the last time she sees him. Judy has a habit of wandering, once the work is done, and has a tree she likes to be at ease under – even her mother can’t deny her that singular pleasure, every so often.

She reaches for a pear, ripe and just soft enough to sink her teeth into, from the lower limbs, but they aren’t heavy enough yet to weigh the branch down to her level. She scowls, nabbing a stick from the grass at the base of the tree –

“Miss Hopps.”

Judy gasps, reeling backwards and tripping over a root. Wilde looks sheepish.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m very sorry. Here, let me—” He takes her paw in his and helps her to her feet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Yes,” she says. “You _did._ ”

Wilde chuckles. “Well, a little, perhaps.” He reaches up and deftly plucks the pear from its perch. “Is this what you wanted?”

Judy nods, carefully taking it from his outstretched paw. “Thank you.”

“Ah, she _does_ have manners.”

“I am perfectly respectable, Mr. Wilde.”

He raises his paws in defense. “I never thought for a moment that you weren’t.” He reaches up and picks a pear of his own. “Is this your place, then? I didn’t see you here yesterday.”

Her ear twitches. He’s been here before – the idea of him, defiling her space, invading her secrets…it makes her fur stand on end.

“It would appear to be anyone’s place,” she says coolly. “There’s work to be done in my house. I can’t simply run off any time I would like.”

“That _would_ be a luxury,” he agrees, and takes a cheeky little bite out of his fruit.

Judy almost opens her mouth to ask what he _means_ , but the call of one of her sisters from the bottom of the hill interrupts her thoughts.

“ _Hide!_ ” she whispers, and shoves him behind the bulk of the tree.

“ _What_ are you _doing_ —”

“We can’t be seen together, have you no concept of propriety, Mr. Wilde?”

“We’re only _talking_!”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

She turns and takes up her usual spot at the base of the trunk, doing her best to look casual as Maggie wanders up the hill.

“Judy, mama says you have to come back and beat out the rugs!”

“Be right there, Mags!” She sighs and takes a mournful bite of her fruit.

“Can I stop _hiding_ now?” Wilde steps out from behind the tree. “You think she’d tattle?”

“She can’t keep her mouth shut. And if she tells Abby I won’t live it down.”

He nods. “Your secret shame,” he teases.

“ _Hardly._ My mother would—” She huffs. “I don’t have time to explain the _rules_ to you, Mr. Wilde. You should know them already.” She moves to stand, but he extends his paw again, wordlessly. Judy takes it.

“I’d like to see you again, Miss Hopps.” His voice is quiet, gentle and inviting.

Judy’s breath catches in her throat. “You seem to have a habit of showing up at my favorite places.”

“I’d rather not wait all week in the paper store,” he says.

“It’s a perfectly acceptable place to wait.”

He laughs. “Perhaps. I _will_ see you again though. I know this.”

Judy opens her mouth to respond, but someone calls for her again at the house. She lifts her skirts and bolts down the hill, leaving him there, pear in hand, desire unrequited.

 

* * *

 

“ _It was delivered to the house._ ”

“ _Well let me see it!_ ”

“ _But it has Judy’s name on it!_ ”

“ _It’s from the Wildes, why would the Wildes know anything about Judy_ —”

Abby snatches the letter from Gracie’s hand and raises it up. Judy continues scrubbing the table. “ _Mother._ We’ve received an invitation.”

Bonnie comes into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Your _sister_ received an invitation.” She takes the letter from Abby’s hand and looks it over. “Judith, do you know the Wildes?”

Judy wrings out the rag and sighs. “I’ve…met their son.”

“Oh _have you._ ” Abby plants both paws on her hips. “What was it she said? She doesn’t concern herself with _flighty_ nobles or the number of carriages they have—”

Judy grabs the invitation. “We met at the paper store. He was collecting a package for his father, it was nothing more than that. He offered to carry the groceries and walk me home. I _refused_ , of course—”

Her mother raises a brow. “It was clearly enough to make an impression.”

Judy flushes. “It’s just a silly ball. There’s nothing to make of it. I’m sure all the girls in the Triburrows received an invitation. I’ll tear it up, and we won’t think on it again.”

“You could go, Judy.” Her mother pries the invitation from her fingers, rescuing it from certain death. “You have a lovely evening gown, the one your aunt gave you last winter. And you’re a perfectly wonderful dancer—”

“Judy doesn’t _want_ to go! _I want to go!_ ” Abby cries. “I can wear her dress just as well—”

“The invitation is for your sister. I hardly think the Wildes would expect an entire rabbit family to show up to their dance. That would be uncouth, Abigail.” She presses the invitation back into Judy’s paws. “Think on it, just for a few days. It would be nice for you to be seen. You are so _beautiful_ , you know this, don’t you? Even a fox appears to be smitten with you.”

“He’s hardly _smitten_ ,” Judy murmurs, but she tucks the letter into the pocket of her apron before returning to her task.

Abby huffs out of the room. “It isn’t _fair_ ,” she whines. “Judy never _wants_ to go to anything, and I am never _allowed._ ”

Judy wants to call out after her that she can go in her place, if it’s what she wants, but the letter burns in her pocket. And, later, that evening, sitting under the window of her shared room with the other girls, she reads the words by moonlight –

 _Lord and Lady Wilde request the company of_ **Miss Judy Hopps** ,  
on the 13th of May, current, at 7 o’clock PM  
at the Redwood Manor.

 _Could it hurt_ , she wonders. Nicholas Wilde is an unknown to her, and his parents even more so. Still, it is her mother’s gentle urging that gives her pause – would she think that Judy could be matched with a _fox_? Or with anyone at all? Hadn’t she been declared a hopeless case for the argument of marriage by each of her siblings in turn? Hadn’t even her _father_ wondered if he’d ever see the day when a young hare walked through the gates to ask for her hand?

Is that even the _point_ , here? She turns the paper over, as if it might have answers – but it is blank. She couldn’t have thought Wilde would write to her this way, if he did at all. For all his teasing, he understands their difference in position. Still, if he’s masterminded this arrangement, he obviously knows far less than Judy had hoped.

But, again – _could it hurt?_

No, she decides, before tucking the letter under her pillow and sliding under her sheets. It certainly could not.


	2. precocious

Redwood Manor is irresponsibly large compared to their other homes, and Nick can hardly stand it. The bed he sleeps in was clearly made for larger animals, the little step provided for him hardly enough. He’s nearly sprained his ankle twice hopping down from it, learning to slide carefully to the floor, or simply swing from the bedpost. Even with all the morning shenanigans, he makes it to breakfast before either of his parents, sorting through the post for the things they’d like, making sure they don’t bring his mother’s tea out too soon.

The morning of the dance, they’re earlier than he is, hashing out details with a few of the serving staff. His father hands him a half-read newspaper and pulls out a chair.

“Oh, you’re wearing that new coat,” his mother says, when the staff has gone. “The green is such a good color on you, Nicky.”

“You have excellent taste, mother.” He settles down, reaching out to pour his tea. “Is everything set? Do I need to run any errands?”

“No, no, I’ve everything under control.”

His father grins, reaching out to take her paw in his. “The perfect hostess.”

Nick smiles, pouring cream into his tea. He is nearly inconceivably lucky to be the fox he is – his parents, Arthur and Elizabeth Wilde, have taken care of him beyond what anyone could have expect them to, given his origins. He wouldn’t dare call the birth parents he never knew anything more than that – the Wilde’s took him in, and he is one of them, through and through.

“The guest list says you invited one of the Hopps girls,” his mother says. Nick knows her tone – calm, careful, but gently prying. He’d expected this.

“We met in town last week. I’d invite more of her family, but I’ve been told she has a dozen siblings.”

“We have room, Nicholas. There’s no need to make the girl feel uncomfortable.”

He snorts. “There’ll be no need to guard against _that._ She’s quite comfortable being exactly who she is.”

“You know her well?” his father asks. His tone is the same.

“We met once,” Nick says. “And that’s all.” There’s no need to go into detail about the tree – he doubts she’s told anyone who’s asked about it either. He doesn’t want to embarrass her, and frankly, he can imagine quite clearly his parents’ twin looks of disapproval. “They live just over the hill from us.”

“Do they? Well, I suppose that makes them neighbors,” his mother says. “We’ll call on them after the ball, but I would love to meet…”

“Judy,” Nick says.

“ _Judy._ Oh, I like it. I like her already. Very salt of the earth, Arthur, wouldn’t you say?”

“That Hopps man is a farmer. Successful one, too.”

“I do love the Burrows,” his mother begins, and the two wind their way into a conversation about just how long they’ll stay, how long it will be until their business is concluded, and if they could manage another season, just a few more months.

“—Nick likes _being_ here so much—”

“Hm?”

His mother smiles. “Well, it’s only…you’ve hardly taken to the other places we’ve settled in. Ever since you finished university, I know you’ve been looking for one—”

“There’s time for that,” his father says. “No need to rush. He’s perfectly fine with us.” His father puts a paw on Nick’s shoulder. “Fine and safe, right here at home.”

 

* * *

 

They had come to the Triburrows because Nick’s father had decided to invest in a local paper. It’s a skill of his, and Nick had never had any objection to the frequent migrations. He enjoyed the thrill of rolling into a smaller city or village, mingling with the locals, pursuing his studies until he’d finished a few years before, and then moving on.

But his mother is right. He does _like_ this place.

It certainly doesn’t have a great deal to do with the rabbit. A small part, perhaps, but nothing grand. It’s hardly Nick’s fault if she’s clever and mouthy and sharp and quick – and it’s hardly his fault that those traits he admires in almost anyone, regardless of gender or species. But in women, it is, of course, almost a requirement.

Still. She is who she is. She is _what_ she is – that is one thing that cannot and will not change. And Nick didn’t miss he look in her eye when she first saw him, how instinct was telling her to run, run as _far_ from him as she possibly could. And yet, she’d remained there. She’d done what she had come into the paper shop to do, and even on the street, she remained evenly cross with him, same as she would with anyone pestering her midday.

But that afternoon, on the hill, it had felt…different. He had felt her relax. She had taken the pear, she’d taken his paw. Certainly, it had trembled, but at no cost between them. They were equal to one another in that moment. He supposes he should have known his mother would discover his stray invitation, and the quick addition of the Hopps girl onto the guest list. Still, it was not a serious proposal, or a serious invitation. The likelihood that she would attend at all was slim already. What did she have to gain from associating with _him_? With _foxes_?

“Do you think the Hopps girl will come?” his father asks. They walk together toward the library – Nick intends to help his mother with the floral arrangements as best he can, but he has letters to take into town for his father first.

“There’s a small chance. I don’t think she’s very fond of me.”

“A bit one-sided, then?”

Nick laughs. “I’m hardly _courting_ her—”

“You will not invite a young woman to your mother’s event and ignore her, Nicholas.” His father’s tone grows stern. “These things are not jokes. She’s of a certain age, she is expected to do certain things. I won’t have my son make a fool of a perfectly respectable young rabbit.”

Nick clears his throat. “I’m sorry, sir. That…wasn’t my intention.”

His father nods, clasping a paw to Nick’s shoulder. “Then let your intentions be good.”

 

* * *

 

He is…surprised, it is safe to say, when Judy appears in the front hall. And she is completely transformed. There is no bonnet on her head, no straw hat protecting her eyes from the sun. Her dress is a soft blue, sleeves only a season or so out of style, he notes, not enough that anyone will notice. No one notices her at all, really. There are several rabbits in attendance – this is the Triburrows, after all. Many notable families of the area are rabbits. She’ll likely be noticed by them –

She is, after all, quite lovely.

And, she is his guest, his mother reminds him. So he must be responsible for her, to an extent. He straightens himself and crosses the room to meet her, giving her a small bow before saying quietly, “You seem lost, Miss Hopps.”

Judy jumps at the sound of his voice, visibly relaxing only once she sees him. “Mr. Wilde.” Recovering, she says, practiced, “Thank you for inviting me. I am most appreciative of the opportunity.”

He laughs. “Let me get you some wine.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” she breathes, and lifts her skirts to head up the little stairs into the main hall. They fetch their glasses and find a suitable place to observe the guests, none of whom Nick really knows. A few here and there seem familiar, seasonal faces that seem to travel with them – but nothing else. Judy knows everyone, except for Lionheart and Bellweather.

“Unhappily married,” Nick says. “He’s self-absorbed and she’s bitter. But it was carefully arranged. They’re both widowed with children of their own. She needed someone to support her family, and he’s making his way into politics in the city.”

“Everyone wins,” she muses.

“I suppose. Dawn Bellweather is…sometimes unpleasant.” Nick resists the urge to bare his teeth whenever he sees her, frankly. She’s never had a kind word to say about either of his parents, particularly his mother, and her general opinion of him, while inconsequential, is as low as it could be. “Who are they?” He points to a well-dressed rabbit couple talking with his father.

“The Parses. They own the post office. They’re nice enough.”

“Nice enough?”

“My brother Ben wanted to marry their daughter Mary. Mr. Parse said no.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“He didn’t have a chance,” Judy says. “A family like ours never does, with a family like the Parses.”

Nick frowns. “What does that mean?”

She takes a sip of her wine. “Don’t play coy, Mr. Wilde. You know precisely what it means.”

He shrugs. “I suppose.” Carefully, he stretches out his paw for her wine glass. “We should dance, Miss Hopps. You seem a little on edge.”

“I’m perfectly fine standing here—”

“My mother has her eyes on us both,” he says quietly, angling to face her. “And it would be a great service to me if you would take my paw, and join me on the floor.”

She looks up at him, and for the first time he realizes how _long_ her lashes are – a delicate quality. “Please,” he adds.

Judy looks surprised, for only a moment, before she smiles at him and puts her paw in his. “Certainly, Mr. Wilde. I’d be honored.” And that’s all it takes – they fall into a rather natural sort of waltz. He’s more than a head taller than she, and has some years of experience in this on her, but she _is_ a wonderful partner.

“I’ve had lessons,” she explains, when he asks. “My mother thinks it’s important to know _how_ to dance, should the opportunity present itself.”

“But dancing itself—”

“Just for the sake of dancing?” She shakes her head.

“Then what is this, if not dance for the sake of itself?”

“This is _social_ dancing. A number of families are here that my father does business with. And they know perfectly well who I am.”

“Yes,” he says. “You’re the Hopps girl, dancing with a fox.”

“I’m _dancing_ with Nicholas Wilde, the respect son of the well-known entrepreneur _Arthur_ Wilde.”

He raises a brow. “So this is purely for show, then.”

“I…well. Well, no,” she says quickly. “I don’t mean that I’m _using_ you, per se, but it’s only—”

Nick gives her a tight spin, pulling her in close. “Relax, Miss Hopps. I’m only teasing.” She ducks her head. “No, no,” he says. “Head up, eyes forward. If you’re going to insist on being my only partner for the night—”

“That would be high inappropriate. There are plenty of young predators—”

“I don’t want to dance with them,” he says. “I _want_ to dance with you.”

Judy swallows. “Well…well, alright, then. But not all night,” she adds. “If my mother hears, I won’t be able to show my face at breakfast in the morning. And _Abby_ —”

“Your sister, I take it?”

Judy sighs. “I do love her, it’s only…she’s one of the middle girls.”

“And you’re the eldest.”

“Ben is the eldest. He’s a year before me. Abby and Gracie are twins, Charlie and Bo are after them, and Maggie is the youngest.”

“That’s quite a brood.”

“It’s called a herd, technically. Most families have more, but my mother—” She stops, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, this is hardly appropriate evening time conversation—”

“No,” Nick says quickly. “I…like hearing about your family. I’ve always been on my own. The concept of siblings fascinates me.”

“It has its moments.” He smiles, the song ends, and Judy pulls back. “I…would like some air, I think.”

“The gardens are just outside. Would you like a tour?” Her expression gives him as much pause as she seems to have, but he recovers quickly. “They’re well-lit and completely staffed with servants at every corner. Fox’s honor.”

If she has something witty to say in response to _that_ , she keeps it to herself, only nodding and taking his arm.

He is right, of course. They can’t walk twelve feet without being accosted by some of the temporary serving staff. Nick’s had eleven canapes in the last four minutes, while Judy chews demurely on some of the carrot hors d’ouevres.

“It’s a beautiful set of grounds,” she says, stopping to admire a rose bush. “I’ve only ever walked past it on the road. No one’s lived here since I was a little girl.”

“It was a lion family, wasn’t it?”

“I think so. The Del Gatos. They were very kind, I went to school with their son. But they left after their second winter. I think he was ill, I remember his cough.” She turns to him. “You’ve been to university, haven’t you?”

“Just finished.”

“Were there any women there?”

“No.” He folds his arms behind his back. “There was a private women’s academy nearby, but I think it was a glorified finishing school.”

Judy frowns. “Oh.”

“Why? Do you want to go?”

“I’m a writer,” she says, straightening up. “Well, an unpublished one. I’d _like_ to be published, but I’d also like to be educated.”

He huffs a laugh. “That’s an interesting career path, considering.”

“Considering _what?_ ”

Nick waves a paw. “Considering your birth, your species, your status as prey, your gender.” He shrugs. “Most people would consider these things obstacles, and be unwilling to overcome them.”

“I am _quite_ willing to overcome obstacles, Mr. Wilde.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees. “But you can’t expect the world to just accept it. Things are the way they are. One stubborn rabbit isn’t going to change that.” They stop, and Nick realizes her foot is tapping incessantly on the cobblestones, her eyes aflame with something like anger. “You can’t be upset with me for stating the obvious.”

“Considering _your_ birth, Mr. Wilde, and _your_ species, and _your_ status—”

He raises his paws. “I _get it_ , Miss Hopps. You’re throwing my words back at me.”

“I suppose my class puts me at a disadvantage. It is unfortunate, then, that I have not been awarded the same privileges granted to you, simply by being born into wealth.”

Nick frowns. “I was not.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I was _not_ born into wealth. My parents adopted me as a kit, but I was hardly born—”

Judy scowls. “What does it matter? You were raised as you were, and I, clearly of the inferior breed, cannot possibly begin to understand how _much_ the world does not want me to succeed, is that it?”

“That’s _not_ what I said,” he snaps. “I’m only pointing out the obvious to you, facts which seem to have flown right over those insufferably long ears of yours. You aren’t _daft_ , Miss Hopps, but you _are_ deaf, to reason especially. And blind, clearly, to the things you can’t see or understand.”

“You don’t know a thing about me,” she says.

“And you know nothing of me,” he replies.

Judy _fumes_ , even expels hot air and anger between them. Whatever timid, gentle connection they’d forged before this is incinerated in the aftermath. Nick won’t mourn it. “I’d like to leave now, Mr. Wilde.”

“By all means.” He bows, low, and gestures toward the steps leading back into the house. “I won’t be the one to stop you.”

She nods, curtly, and does not bother to bid him a proper goodbye. He notes that she thanks his parents as she leaves, and he follows her just long enough to see her helped into one of the guest carriages, the door shutting over her now-placid face.

 _Good_ , he thinks. _One less thing for mother to pester me over._

 

* * *

 

“I did enjoy that Hopps girl, for the moment I met her. What excellent manners.”

Nick shoves oatmeal into his mouth, refuses to answer.

“Nicholas. Your mother is speaking to you.”

He swallows, sips his tea, and says, “She’s uncouth, young, and naïve. I don’t think she’ll be returning.”

“Oh? Did you say something to her?”

“Why must it be _me_ who could have said something? Wouldn’t it be _astounding_ if it turned out the _rabbit_ had a foul mouth and a head full of _lies?_ ”

“ _Nicholas!_ ”

He stands abruptly. “Will you excuse me? I need a walk, I think.” He leaves the table without waiting for their response, bursting out of the house and onto the grounds. There are some days when these estates feel more like _prisons_ , and he longs for his flat in the city, for his raucous friendship with Finnick and the others, the boys who knew no boundaries, who ran late into the night and did as they pleased. He misses the clogged, city air and the constant spill of noise, noise, _noise_ –

“Sir?”

Nick spins around, realizing he is at the boundary of the property, and in danger of marching right through the hedges. A servant stands behind him, a letter grasped in his paws.

“Yes.”

“This arrived for you, just this morning.”

Nick sighs, nodding and taking the envelope. It’s from her, of course, and he should have expected her script to be this tidy. For a moment his imagination conjures the image of her little notebooks, full of stories no one will read.

_Mr. Wilde—_

_Thank you for your advice and company yesterday evening. I will not be requesting either of them again._

_Judy E. Hopps_

He laughs out loud, and his first traitorous thought is immediately, _What does the E stand for?_ His second: _Of course she has to have the last word._

 


	3. sheepish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i've got to go to work so i'll read over it another time later and check for typos, promise)

The week after the Wilde’s ball, Judy finds herself caring for yet another invitation from the household, this time from Mrs. Wilde.

“They do seem enamored with you,” her mother says. “We don’t really have anything for you to _wear_ for tea, though.”

“I’m not going.” Judy sets the letter down and continues sweep out from in front of the fire.

Her mother sighs. “I know you didn’t enjoy the ball, but tea is something different—”

“I see no reason her ladyship should be so interested in me. We hardly spoke. I thanked them for a lovely evening, then I left.”

Abby snorts. “ _After_ dancing all night with Nicholas Wilde.”

“It was hardly all night. We enjoyed one another’s company for a small portion of the evening, and then—”

“No,” Ben says, looking up from his breakfast. “I heard it was that way, too. I heard from Clawhauser that you two went for a walk in the gardens.”

Judy flushes. “Among a _dozen_ servants and thirty _guests._ It was hardly a private tour.”

“I _don’t_ want to hear another bit of gossip, from either of you,” her mother says. “The invitation is from the lady of the house, and you will go.”

“ _Mother_ —”

“I won’t hear it. We’ll…we’ll find something for you to wear.” She sighs and shakes her head. “For goodness _sakes_ , Judith. This is an opportunity. Please, for your own sanity, don’t throw it away. I’ve a dress you can wear. We have a few days, we’ll spruce it up and its age won’t show a bit.”

Judy nods. “Of course, mother.”

“And don’t act like it’s such a punishment. There’s a dozen girls who would switch places with you in a second. Enjoy yourself, _please_.”

 

* * *

 

The dress’s age _does_ show, but her mother’s handiwork makes it something Judy doesn’t quite feel like she deserves to wear. She holds the basket of berries and baked goods tightly in her paws, walking up the steps to Redwood Manor. A servant takes her through the house to a tea room just beside a little garden. Mrs. Wilde and a handful of other girls from the Burrow are already there.

“There she is.” Mrs. Wilde stands, extending her paws and taking the basket. “Are these from your family’s farm?”

“Yes, ma’am, they are.”

“That’s wonderful!” She passes them off and takes Judy’s arm, leading her inside. “I was just telling the girls how happy I am everyone could be here. It makes it all the more fun.”

“I appreciate the invitation, ma’am.”

“Of course, of course. You sit here, Judy, next to Emma.”

Emma Parse glances over, brow raised. Her dress is new, Judy notes, but her expression is well-worn. The same her mother wears whenever she passes them in public.

She says, “So good of you to come, Judy,” and takes a delicate sip of her tea. “And what a beautiful dress.”

“It was my mother’s.”

“How _quaint._ ”

Judy straightens in her chair, taking her tea when it’s offered to her.

Dawn Bellweather’s only daughter, May, is there, and so are a few girls Judy went to grammar school with as a young girl. But she doesn’t recognize anyone else, and they don’t seem to know her either. The conversation is gentle, with Mrs. Wilde leading the topics, asking an opinion of each girl in turn. She doesn’t seem to be measuring or judging them, and so for the life of her, Judy can’t surmise what all this is about.

“I love to get to know the young women of a community,” Mrs. Wilde finally says. “It brings us all closer, I think. No sense in being strangers to one another. I don’t – Nicholas! Nicholas, love, come over, just for a moment.”

Judy turns, and the fox is standing on the edge of the garden with his father, stance open and warm. He doesn’t see her, she thinks, but he could very well be pretending she isn’t there at all. Judy feels a lump crawl into her throat. She has regretted her letter ever since she sent it, and she knows her mother would be _horrified_ if she knew how it read.

“You’ve only met Judy, my love, isn’t that right?”

Nick and his father stride toward them, and if Judy didn’t know better, she’d think they were father and son by blood. Their postures are identical, expressions nearly the same. Nick is a few inches taller, though, and his fur a coarser, ruddier color.

“Indeed,” he says. “Miss Hopps, it’s good to see you again.”

Judy stands and pays him the proper respects. “And you, Mr. Wilde.”

“I didn’t know you were entertaining today, mother.”

“Just something I threw together last week.”

“Elizabeth—” Her husband interrupts. “There’s a small matter of the roses, if you could ease Mr. Otterton’s woes for a moment. He’s concerned with the placement, and I told him your opinion is the only I concede to on flowers.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Wilde stands. “Girls, I won’t be but a moment. Enjoy one another, won’t you?”

Nick pauses before following. “Thank you for coming, ladies. Miss Hopps.” He bows his head to her before moving swiftly down the steps and into the garden.

The girls sit in perfect silence for a full minute before Emma Parse says, “Well _that’s_ something, isn’t it?”

“What is?” May Bellweather asks. She’s always been a little lost. “I thought they were very nice.”

“I _meant_ our dear Miss Hopps. It seems no one in your family has an ounce of shame to their name.”

Judy doesn’t answer. May says, “ _Emma_ , that’s not very nice.”

“Oh, _do_ try cleaning out the fluff between your ears, May. You didn’t see her throwing herself at the fox? I didn’t know you were so interested in predator-prey relations, Judith.”

“ _Emma_ —”

“Shut up, May.” Emma angles herself toward Judy. “Nothing to say about it then, _Miss Hopps?_ ”

“No,” Judy says coolly.

“Yes, well, I suppose it’s the familial stubbornness that had your brother asking for my sister’s hand twice over, isn’t it?”

“Your sister doesn’t deserve my brother,” Judy says.

“An interesting interpretation of events.”

Judy turns to her. “You’re foul, Emma Parse, and your sister is nearly thirty and still unwed.”

“As if you care for such things.”

“As if you can continue to be above it.”

The sound of Mrs. Wilde and her husband returning brings their talk to a close. Nick is no longer with them.

“I apologize, my dears. Roses are a passion of mine. Did I miss anything?”

Emma smiles. “Judy and I were only speaking of how well-mannered your son is, Mrs. Wilde.”

The conversation turns, the mood shifts again, and Judy survives the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

It is a full week before she sees him again.

“ _Miss Hopps! Miss Hopps, please wait_ —”

She turns on the walk, the week’s purchases in hand, and he is running after her. “Mr. Wilde—”

“Allow me to walk with you,” he pants. “For just a street or so. Please,” he adds.

Judy sighs. “Yes, alright.”

“I’ll carry those, if you’d like.” She glances into the basket, quite heavy with some of the things, and concedes. “Wonderful. Look at all this progress we’re making. I thought after your letter you wouldn’t even acknowledge me—”

“I apologize for the note,” she says quickly. “It was poorly phrased and not appropriate.”

“You only wrote it because I said a stupid thing,” he says. “And for _that_ , you should let _me_ apologize. If your dream is to write and go to university, I see no point in dashing that. It’s a beautiful goal.”

“It’s impossible,” she murmurs.

“With that attitude.”

“Mr. Wilde, what could have changed your mind about me?”

He stands with her, waiting for traffic to finish crossing the street. “I heard you,” he says. “With that Parse girl.” Judy freezes. “You’ve a way with words, you know.”

“Emma Parse is bitter and unkind, and a reflection of her family. My brother is a good and honest rabbit, and Victoria Parse could have done much worse than him.”

“I see.”

Judy sighs and they cross the road. “I’m sorry you heard the exchange.”

Nick shrugs. “It helps me understand. I’ll be sure my father knows not to deal to much with the Parse’s, if they’re all that way.”

“Mr. Parse is a perfectly acceptable businessman—”

“His daughter insulted you, for no good reason, Judy. He refused your brother, _for no good reason._ ” He turns to her. “Won’t you let me do something good for you?”

“I see no reason—”

“I’m very fond of you, Miss Hopps.” The words spill forth, and his expression gives away his immediate regret. “What I mean is…what I…” He sighs. “You are…a _challenge._ And I enjoy that in my friends.”

“Friends.”

“Yes,” he says. “Would it be possible, you think, for the two of us to forge an alliance? Something we could both enjoy?” They’ve reached the road that travels down to Judy’s home, and he knows it. He won’t dare walk her all the way to the gate, not with her mother and sister watching. She appreciate him for that.

“Mr. Wilde—”

“You can call me _Nick_ ,” he says. “It’s alright. I don’t bite.”

She looks up quickly. He presses her basket into her paws.

“I…”

“The only friends I have are back in the city. Out here I spend all day with my father, all evening with my books. It would be…something nice, I think, if I had someone who I could call on, occasionally. Someone to meet beneath the pear tree.”

Judy _hopes_ beyond hope that he cannot see the reddening of her ears.

“That’s quite an offer.”

“Nothing more than you deserve.”

“Mr. Wi—” She stops. “Nick.”

He smiles. “See? Not so hard. If you say no, I won’t bother you again. I’ll practically disappear, as much as a neighbor can.”

“I don’t want that.”

He cocks his head. “Come again? A bit louder, this time.”

Judy sighs. “I don’t _want_ you to disappear. I…would like to be friends.”

“Look at that,” he murmurs. “Look at us.”

“I know,” she says. “Rabbit and fox.”

“We’re breaking ground, Judith.”

“It would appear that way, Nicholas.”

He smiles. “I’ll let you walk yourself the rest of the way,” he says. Carefully, he lifts one of her paws and presses his mouth to it. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.” He makes his way down the winding road that leads to Redwood Manor, leaving Judy staring after him.

 

* * *

 

Judy is…unsure of what to make of this new relationship. Though he declares them friends, and she agrees, they do not see one another too often. It would be inappropriate to spend all her free and leisure time with a young man, and so she finds him on the days she goes into town, and willingly lets him walk her to the end of her road, carrying her basket. Sometimes they meet below the tree. It is…thrilling, to say the least.

Her mother notices.

“I saw him at the end of the road,” she says one morning. “The Wilde boy.”

“He offers to carry my things, some days.”

“Some days? Or each time you’re in town.” Her mother folds her arms over her chest. “Is the boy courting you?”

“ _Mother!_ ”

“So I am. And so, I deserve to know.”

Judy shakes her head. “We are friends, by mutual agreement.”

Her mother snorts. “Young men and women cannot be _friends_ , Judith.”

“They certainly can! There’s nothing that prevents me from having a wholesome, educational relationship with someone who has recently graduated university and is willing to let me borrow some of his books—”

Her mother frowns. “What are you allowing him to fill your head with?”

“Nothing. I fill my head on my own.”

“You cannot go to university.”

“Perhaps not _now._ ”

“Judy, we’ve discussed this. You cannot, they won’t allow you. If they could, I would certainly let you, but—”

“Would you, though?” Judy looks up. “You push me to go to dances, to tea, to make myself known in town—”

“Because you are my eldest daughter and you cannot wait around for all your life, hoping the city becomes a place for you!” Her mother’s voice _snaps_ , and Judy stills. “You will make me go grey before my time, young lady, you know that?”

“Mother…”

“I will _allow_ the fox to walk you home, if that is his sole intent. But you will not allow him to fill your head with _silly_ thoughts of going away from this family and away from this Burrow. This is your home and you will remain _here._ Unless someone comes to marry you and take you away, which hardly seems to be your goal, then this is precisely where you will stay. Do you understand me?”

Judy feels small, under her mother’s anger. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ve another invitation for tea,” she adds.

“From the Wildes?”

“No, actually.” Her mother produces the letter. “From the Greys.”

 

* * *

 

When Judy had been younger, she’d made an enemy of a fox.

He’d been larger than she, a bit older than she, and from a wealthier family. They’d gone to school together, competed in nearly everything, and did not agree on a single point.

There’d been a moment, at the end of the road, the same road Nick walks her to three times a week, that she’d said something, _done_ something –

And Gideon Grey had struck her.

Nothing hard, nothing terrible – they were children, after all.

But the scratches had stung, and under the fur, when her cheeks reddened, she could see three pink lines, crossing her face.

Walking up the steps to the old Grey estate, she remembers the feeling, the quick slash and tumble, and the look on Gideon’s face as he realized what he’d done.

They hadn’t spoken since.

The door to the estate opens, and Judy follows a maid into a small sitting room, set for tea. The Greys always had money, and from what she understands, Gideon had gone on to study law. She has no idea what all this is for, no idea what she’s doing here or why she agreed, but—

“Judy?”

She turns. “Mr. Grey.”

Gideon looks sheepish in the doorway, scratching behind his head and smiling. “I didn’t think you’d come, actually.”

“You seemed prepared for it.”

“Thought it would be best.”

Judy nods. “Where are your mother and father?”

“In the city,” he says. “I’m back in the Burrow to work for the Parse’s. They needed someone good with legal jargon to sort out some deals. Might pick up some drafting work for that other fox family.”

“The Wildes,” she says.

“Yeah. You’ve met them?”

“I…yes. A few times.”

Gideon smiles. “Would you…I mean I know it’s…it’s just us—”

“I’m perfectly capable of managing a tea service, Mr. Grey.”

“Gideon,” he says. “You should call me Gideon.”

_You can call me Nick._

“I…of course. Yes.”

_I don’t bite._

“Great.” Gideon smiles, and they sit down across from one another. “I wanted to apologize for the way I acted in my youth, Judy. It was inappropriate, and I was…angry.”

“With me?”

“No. Just…angry, I guess.”

“But you aren’t anymore.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m good now. I’m _happy._ I’ve found something I can do, something I’m finally good at.”

“I never would have taken you for someone with a passion in law.”

“Guess we’re all full of surprises.” He smiles. “I thought you might be married and gone when I got back.”

Judy flushes. “No,” she says. “Not for my mother’s most recent lack of trying, though.”

“I understand that.” He takes his tea. “Everyone is your family is doing okay?”

“They’re very happy, Gideon. Thank you for asking.”

“Good. That’s good.” He sniffs. “Well.”

Judy smiles. “Well.”

“I think this is probably as long as an appropriate social call as we can make, don’t you think?”

She shifts in her chair. “I…I can stay a bit longer, actually.” She’s intrigued by this calmer, newer Gideon, the one who serves tea and apologizes for scratches and scrapes and wants to make sure no one thinks he’s doing anything wrong.

“I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“I’ll finish my tea,” she says. “How about that?”

Gideon’s expression brightens. “Well, alright then. That sounds just fine.”

After, he offers to walk her home, and she agrees. She thinks he’ll stop at the end of the road, but they walk all the way to the end, right up to the steps of the house.

“I appreciate you understanding me,” he says.

“We were kids, Gideon. It’s alright.”

“No, it wasn’t alright. It was a bad thing, and I’m sorry for it.”

She laughs. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Well, I am.” Gideon rubs the back of his neck. “I’d like to see you again, if that’s alright.”

Judy blinks. “Oh.”

“I don’t mean to be too forward, I just…didn’t leave behind too many friends here.”

Judy puts a paw on his arm. “I’d like to see you, too, Gideon.”

“Really?” She nods. “Well, gosh. That’s…that’s great, Judy. That’s really great.” He takes his paw, raises it to his mouth and –

_I don’t bite._

Judy looks at the place where his lips and her paw meet.

“Thank you,” he says. “You’ve got no idea how much this means to me.”

Judy suspects she does, but she’s a bit dumbfounded for the moment, and watches him wave and walk back up the road.

The door opens behind her.

“ _What_ just _happened?_ ” Ben demands. Judy turns.

“I…don’t know.”

“Is Gideon Grey _courting you?_ ” Abby asks.

“What’s all this nonsense about Gideon Grey?” Her father comes from around the side of the house. “What are you kids doing, get inside, go help your mother.” He pauses and puts a paw on Judy’s shoulder. “Everything alright, Jude?”

She nods. “It’s fine.”

He smiles. “You’re always fine,” he says. “That’s my girl.” He goes inside, and Judy leans against the wall of the house.

_I’m very fond of you, Miss Hopps._

_I’d like to see you again, if that’s alright._

She takes a deep breath, rushes inside and straight for the bowl of water.

Her heart threatens to hammer straight out of her chest.

“What on _earth_ am I getting myself into?” she murmurs, before burying her face in her paws.


	4. incredulous

It was harder being a fox in the city, Nick realizes. That doesn’t mean that it’s gotten easier – frankly he’d gotten used to the looks and the pithy comments and the snide remarks. That came with the territory. He’d been shielded from it as a boy, had only learned his lesson just before he’d turned ten, in a small town where his father had come to invest in a mill. Before that, Nick hadn’t quite seen the world as divided in two. He saw foxes, he saw rabbits, he saw bears – he knew they were each different in turn, but did not know what exactly marked him as _apart._

Then, he’d been ridiculed, made into a joke. A _fox_ who could be trusted was unthinkable, _impossible_ – his peers had wanted him to know it.

It’s why he’s frankly surprised to find out the only other fox living in the Burrow is a lawyer. And a good one, too.

Gideon Grey comes around a month or so after he’s returned to his home to have lunch with the Wilde’s. And Nick is a little more than impressed. That Gideon is younger than him, and has already figured out what he wants from this world is inspiring. It should demean him, should make him feel small and lost – but there is nothing to dislike about this fox. Not a single thing.

He speaks affably, talks with his paws moving about, and has a country feel about him. His accent is stronger with some words than with others, evidence of his prolonged years in the city, but he is Burrow from head to toe, that much is certain. Nick’s father takes to him instantly, and his mother is immediately charmed. Nick can’t say he blames them.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to meet another fox here,” his mother says, saying what they’re all thinking. “We’ve been more than welcomed, of course, but to have some of our own kin here is… _refreshing._ ”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Mrs. Wilde.” Gideon politely dabs around his jaw with a napkin. “Most around here don’t have a problem with foxes too much. You get your trouble with some of the rabbit families every so often, but I took up working for the Parse’s pretty easily.”

Nick’s ear twitches. “You like that family?” he asks.

Gideon rubs his neck. “It…would be inappropriate to speak ill of my employer,” he says.

“They’re a bit difficult,” Mr. Wilde agrees. “But Mr. Parse is a good businessman.”

“He knows what he wants,” Gideon says. “I’ll leave it there.”

“Too right.” Mrs. Wilde shakes her head. “We should talk about someone pleasant. Gideon, do you know the Hopps?” Nick looks sharply at his mother, but she doesn’t notice. “They seem like a decent family to work for. Perhaps Mr. Hopps needs some help managing things?”

“Oh, I doubt that. Mrs. Hopps does that part just fine. I suppose if he’s interested in buying more land, we could discuss it, but Stu Hopps is all talk about expanding. He used to say he was always going to add more rooms to that house, or add more land to the farm, but he’s always happy with what he’s got. Probably a lesson to be learned there,” Gideon adds.

“We’ve just enjoyed their daughter, Judy, so much,” Mrs. Wilde says. “She’s come around for tea with some of the other girls in town a few times now. And she’s friends with our Nick.”

Gideon nods. “She mentioned that to me.”

Nick’s ear twitches. Again. “Mentioned it?”

“Stu and Bonnie have had me around for dinner a few times now, and Judy’s been kind enough to let me walk with her.”

Mrs. Wilde raises a brow. “Oh? A secret to share, Mr. Grey?”

He ducks his head and grins. “She’s a charming young woman, and I’m lucky enough that we’ve grown up beyond a silly childhood rivalry.”

“Rivals,” Nicks says. “Interesting.”

“Sure. We had our disagreements. But it’s all worked out.” He turns to Mr. Wilde. “Should we excuse ourselves and have a look at those documents, sir?”

“Actually, I thought you and Nick might look over them. Nick just finished his business studies at university last year, and he could use the practice, couldn’t you son?”

“Of course, sir.”

Gideon smiles. “That works just fine with me.” They stand together and excuse themselves from the table, heading toward the office. “Your parents sure are accommodating.”

“They like to be helpful,” Nick says.

“Well, it’s good to stick together sometimes,” Gideon says. “I’m certainly an advocate for interspecies business relations, but sometimes it feels good to work with kin.”

Nick can’t help but agree with the sentiment. “It certainly is,” he says, turning the key for the office and leading him inside. “I’ll just get these.

“Sure.” Gideon slides his paws into his trousers and looks around. “Always admired this place when I was a kid. A lion family lived here.”

“Ju—Miss Hopps mentioned that. The Del Gatos.”

Gideon chuckles. “You can say her name, Wilde. She’s your friend, I know this.”

Nick nods. “She’s a very good friend,” he says. “My first and only here.”

“Judy’s good for something like that. She’s earnest, it makes you feel better about yourself.” Gideon takes the contracts from Nick’s paws. “Let’s get to work then.”

Nick nods. “To work.”

 

* * *

 

They meet beneath the pear tree.

She’s already talking a mile a minute, complaining about her sister, detailing to him how she’s trying to work around her last bout of writers block. Her most recent work is a novel based loosely on her mother’s childhood – “ _Extremely_ loosely,” she always says – and it’s giving her trouble

Nick’s only trouble is paying attention.

Not because he doesn’t find her words interesting, or because he isn’t sympathetic to her struggle – it’s only…each time she turns, each time she begins her pacing anew, Nick can only imagine her on the arm of Gideon Grey.

They make a handsome couple.

“—not _paying attention._ ”

“Hmm?”

“You!” She points. “What are you even thinking about, where’s your head, Nick?”

“Ah.” He shifts, squirms really, if one needed to know the precise motion. “I was only…” He looks up between the branches of the tree. The fruit has gone.

Has that much time passed?

“Gideon Grey is doing work for my father.”

Judy doesn’t hesitate, only snaps back and shakes her head. “I knew that already, he told me yesterday.”

“So you admit to allowing him to court you.”

She huffs. “Gideon Grey is not—”

Nick looks at her precisely at the moment when the realization dawns on her.

“Oh.”

“Mmm, slow on the uptake, aren’t we Miss Hopps?”

“Well…well I _didn’t_ –” She frowns and folds her arms over her chest. “Do you think he really is?”

“He admitted as much to my mother.”

“And you didn’t _tell me?_ ” She swats his arm.

“ _Ow!_ No, I didn’t tell you. I assumed you were bright enough to figure that out. And besides, I’ve only seen you once since then, and it was in town. Hardly a place to be discussing your marriage prospects. Well, prospect.” That earns him another smack, but he’s deserved it. “What, you aren’t pleased?”

Judy sighs. “It isn’t that it’s…unwelcome. Only…of anyone in the Burrow to do so…if you knew our history, you’d understand my surprise.”

“He mentioned you were rivals.”

Judy blinks. “Well, yes. But, he struck me. When we were children.”

Nick’s body goes rigid against the trunk of the tree. “He hurt you.”

“Not particularly. It _stung_ , it was a scratch. He felt terrible, he couldn’t look me in the eye again for years. And then he left, so it hardly mattered.”

“He struck you, and you’ll still allow him to court you.”

“We were _children_ , Nick. It hardly mattered then, and it doesn’t matter now.”

He frowns. “So you’d consider it.”

“I believe so, yes. What’s gotten into you, why do you care so much?”

“I don’t. I think Gideon Grey is a fine fox, and he’d make an excellent partner and provider.” It strikes Nick, here and now, that he doesn’t disagree with any of those points. He thinks Gideon would make Judy a perfectly acceptable husband. He isn’t dull or unkind, he’s completely earnest and good natured – even Nick enjoys having him around.

Judy smiles. “You’re not wrong about him. He’s good, and well intentioned.”

“He’ll probably propose soon. A few months is a perfectly acceptable courtship time.”

“That’s a bit fast.”

“Neither of you are getting any younger, Miss Hopps.”

“ _Nicholas._ ”

“I can speak only the truth,” he teases, and ducks as she kicks a pile of leaves in his direction.

 

* * *

 

As snow descends some weeks later on the Burrow, Mrs. Wilde declares everyone’s spirits in desperate need of refreshing, and throws another ball. This time around, she certainly does outdo herself. Nick has never seen so much greenery in one place, dusted carefully to look snow-covered, with a towering chocolate cake as the centerpiece of the evening. The music is bright, the bottom rooms of the house are opened and cleared for dance and conversation, and even Abigail and Benjamin Hopps receive an invitation.

Judy arrives, of course, on the arm of Gideon Grey.

Nick had been expecting this, he’d prepared himself for the possibility. She’s standing by the entrance, brushing snow from Abby’s dress – the same Judy wore to her first, he notes – and helping Ben fix his tie.

“You all made it,” he says, standing just outside their orbit.

Gideon grins, reaching out and grasping Nick’s paw fiercely in his own. “Sure did,” he says. “Have you met Judy’s brother and sister?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure.” Abby squeaks, giving him a curtsy as Ben reaches out and they shake paws. He turns to Judy. “Miss Hopps, it’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Mr. Wilde.”

“You will say hello to my mother, won’t you? All of you, she’s rather smitten with the Hopps family.”

Ben speaks up. “We did appreciate the oranges she sent, they were very good.”

“I’d never had an orange before,” Abby says. “Are there oranges here? I’d like another, I think.”

“ _Abby._ ” Judy gives her a look, but Nick laughs.

“I’m sure we could find some for you. I’ll impose on the cook in a while.”

Abby _beams._ She finds herself a nice young rabbit to dance with later, though, and Nick doesn’t think she’d like to be interrupted in the beginnings of a courtship ritual to discuss citrus. He opts to loiter by the tapestries, champagne in hand, watching the bubbles rise to the top and dissipate. Ben comes to stand with him.

“I appreciate the invitation, Mr. Wilde.”

“Call me Nick. I don’t think I could take one more _Mr. Wilde_ tonight.”

Ben chuckles. “Right. Well, I was about to say, it was nice to be invited, but I don’t dance. Not well, anyway.”

“Not in front of the Parse girls?”

Ben looks sheepish. “You know about that?”

“Word gets around.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “It…wasn’t my proudest moment.”

“Don’t be ashamed of asking. Don’t be ashamed of doing it a second time, either.”

“It embarrassed my family,” he says seriously. “I should have known better.”

“I suppose.” Nick takes a sip from his flute. The drink’s gone flat.

Ben sighs. “Judy’s going to get married before all of us. Never would have guessed.”

“No?”

“Not at all. She used to say when we were children that she’d die an old maid, always sent our great-aunt Martha into fits. I think she did it on purpose. She’s a hapless romantic, all the girls in her stories get married.” Ben shakes his head. “She’ll marry Gideon Grey, and great-aunt Martha’s going to turn in her grave.”

“Because they won’t have children?”

“Precisely.”

Nick continues sipping form his glass, though he doesn’t know why. Perhaps to be drunker than he was fifteen seconds ago. “It’s possible she doesn’t want children.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Ben angles himself toward Nick. “I…I thought—” He clears his throat. “And forgive me, please, if this is uncalled for or simply untrue, but…I thought perhaps… _you_ might be courting my sister. And I thought she wanted it that way.”

Nick swallows. “What gave you that idea?”

“You walk with her from town, you invited her to your mother ball.” He glances around. “And I know that you…you meet with her, sometimes. Under that tree.”

Nick turns sharply toward the rabbit. “How?”

“Seen you both. I know you haven’t done anything…untoward. But two people spending all that time together…” He shrugs. “I just thought you might have designs of your own.”

Nick turns back to the dancers. “Your sister talks to much, argues too often, and pretends to know more than she does. What interest could I possibly have in marrying her?”

He expects Ben to leap to his sister’s defense, perhaps gather himself up and take his family home – it would certainly spare Nick the grief of watching Judy and Gideon talking quietly on the edge of the party, far enough apart to be appropriate but close enough to let others know his intent.

He swallows thickly.

“Oh, it’s worse than just wanting to marry her,” Ben says quietly. “You already love her, don’t you?”

Nick sputters. “I _what?_ ”

“You do! You love her—”

“ _Will_ you be _quiet_?”

Ben points. “You love her and you didn’t even know it until _just now._ ”

“That’s no business of yours,” Nick hisses.

“I won’t _tell_ her,” Ben insists. “Though I think you should. She’s going to marry Gideon, he’s planning to come over tomorrow afternoon, and I know he’ll want to see my father and ask—”

“There’s nothing to tell. If Gideon Grey wants to ask your sister to marry him, I don’t see why I would have a problem with that.”

 _Liar, liar, liar, liar_ —

Ben sighs. “Well. Maybe I’m wrong.”

“You are.”

The rabbit shrugs. “Forgive the intrusion, then. It only seemed to be that way.”

 

* * *

 

He wonders, long after the house has emptied, if he’d known all along.

Of course, Judy is infuriating – that’s part of why he likes being around her. She’s argumentative, brash, sometimes loud, far too earnest for her own good –

And Nick –

Nick loves her.

 _How completely perfect_ , he thinks, rolling over in bed. _How wonderfully romantic._

A fox, in love with a rabbit.

 _This_ fox, in love with that _particular_ rabbit.

Nothing could bring him more happiness than knowing she had finally gotten to him, had finally managed to worm her way inside and produce something more than casual affection.

Hadn’t he known, of course, from the start? Hadn’t he found himself infatuated from the very beginning? Hadn’t he been the one, the very _same_ fox, who had boldly spoken to her some months before –

_I am quite fond of you, Miss Hopps._

_I am quite fond of you indeed._


	5. inconvenient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with new art from [ky-jane](http://ky-jane.tumblr.com)!!

His proposal should not take her by surprise – she knows, after all, exactly the day he received her father’s permission, and she knows he traveled into the city under the pretense of visiting his mother and father, likely to obtain the ring – but _still._

The sight of Gideon on bended knee, his paw in hers as he holds the ring, asks her to do him the greatest honor of becoming his wife is quite a sight.

“Gideon…”

“Maybe it’s too soon, I can never be sure of these things, but I do know, Judy, that it would make me the happiest fox in the Burrow.”

Judy looks down at the ring in his fingers, then to the fox kneeling at her feet.

She answers without a second thought, because she knows the feelings in his heart to be true.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, Gideon, I will marry you.”

He grins, and the ring slides onto her own finger perfectly, an heirloom piece that his grandmother owned, sized for Judy specifically, given to her on this day, a perfectly normal Thursday, on the edge between winter and spring.

And she does not think of Nicholas Wilde a single moment, that day. There is wine and food and warmth. Her home is full of music and even Abby cannot help but be happy for her. Judy, _getting married._ How could anyone have expected it? Through the celebration, through the speeches and the planning – _that_ fox does not cross her mind.

Not until she crawls into bed, sated and pleased and _engaged_ – unbidden, the sound of his voice fills her sleepy head.

_I am quite fond of you, Miss Hopps._

Her gut twists. Why does she have the urge to send him a letter, as quick as she can? Why does she want him to know, before anyone else? Why does she seek and crave his approval, as if he will say to her, ever, an unkind word against Gideon Grey? Perhaps, she thinks, it is that she _wants_ him to protest. She wants him to object to her engagement, to her fiancé, to the life she will soon lead.

But she can’t imagine it. All she can see is his approving smile under the pear tree, before the snow had fallen and driven them both out, telling her that Gideon would make a fine husband.

All she can see is his smile, his straight-backed form standing at the end of the drive, holding her basket and waiting for her to take it from him. All she can see is a pear in his hand, his paw in her own, the roses his mother grows.

She had thought…well, she had thought like the foolish girl she was. That Nick fancied her, that Nick was going to be the one to court her, that Nick would be the one asking her father’s permission. So perhaps what she feels now, gnawing away at her, taking precious moments of sleep, is not confusion at hearing his voice or imagining his smile – but rather…

_Disappointment._

Disappointment that he was not the fox to ask.

“Silly girl,” she mumbles to herself, and rolls over to push his image, already unwelcome, from the corners of her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

The wedding is set for summer, and Judy’s mother chalks it up to a youthful misunderstanding that her daughter can’t quite believe how much work will need to be done in the months leading up to it.

Judy frowns. “I won’t be married until July, mother. Do I really need to be fitted for a _dress?_ ”

“You do. I’ll fit you myself. Gideon’s mother has offered to pay for it, but you’ll refuse her when you see her, remember that. The Greys may pay for any number of other things, but _your dress_ will be a product of this family.”

“If you insist.”

“I do, and so should you.” Her mother wraps the measuring tape around Judy’s waist. “Won’t take much fabric to cover you, love.” She kisses one of her ears. “You’ll look beautiful, just…just absolutely beautiful.”

Judy turns, and her mother is fiddling with the tape measure in her paws, shaking her head. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m…it’s only…it just happened so _fast_ , Judy. Are you sure this is…what you want?”

Judy reaches out, wrapping her mother in her arms. “Please don’t worry about me,” she says. “Gideon’s a good man.”

“I know that, I’m not _doubting_ his character. I’m not doubting him at all, actually.”

Judy sighs. “You’re doubting me.”

“I only want you to be _happy._ ”

“I am,” Judy insists, and it isn’t a lie.

Later, though, she realizes – it is also not the truth, either.

 

* * *

 

Gideon leaves the Burrow again to oversee the transport of some of his family’s things from the city, and so Judy isn’t sure if the arrival of the letter is intentional, or, purely coincidental. Regardless, it is given to her by a courier when she is in town, with the polite request that it be opened immediately.

The intention, _now_ , is obvious. Judy’s paws tremble.

 _I am leaving the Burrow_ , it reads. _At the end of the week, I’ll return to the city. I would like to see you one more time. Meet me today, after your errands. I will wait, that I can promise. – N.W._

Judy grips the paper tight before folding it and sliding it into the basket. She is always so alone on these trips, isolated from her family, simply herself and herself alone, wading into a sea of otherness and hardly noticed. For the first time, she wishes she were not. She forces herself not to reach out and snatch the closest passerby, thrusting the letter into their paws and foisting the responsibility of meeting Nicholas Wilde under the pear tree onto their own shoulders.

How _dare_ he, she thinks. He knows perfectly well her situation, knows that she cannot be seen alone with him, especially _now._ Judy squares her anxiety away, marching down the street and out of town, fully intending to ignore his request and go about her day.

 _But you want to see him_ , a voice says. The same voice that reminds her that she is not entirely satisfied. That the ring on her finger is weighted with her own insincerity.

 _It is post-engagement jitters,_ she answers the voice. _I will feel better in time._

_But what if you never do? What if you don’t meet him, and you regret it for so long?_

She shakes her head. _I am stronger than that._

 _Oh,_ the voice says. _Are you?_

 

* * *

 

“And you _won’t_ tell a soul.”

“Judy, I _promise._ For the last time, just _go!_ Go and meet him, see what he has to say!” Ben ushers her towards the door. “If you don’t leave now you’ll miss your chance, they’ll be back from the Coopers’ farm in an hour, and you’ve got a ten minute walk to the hill to talk this through.”

Judy frowns. “Talk _what_ through?”

“Everything! I don’t have time to get into the details, and neither do you. Get up there and _go!_ Before he _leaves_ , Judy, for crying out loud!” Ben shoves her out the door, right into a stray pile of snow. Scowling, she shakes it off and heads for her destination.

Only Ben was home when she’d arrived back from town, and he was surprisingly…soft about the entire ordeal. Naturally, it had made Judy suspicious, but she’d agreed to meet Nick anyway.

 _It couldn’t hurt_ , she thinks, as she begins the walk up the hill, aware that quite the opposite is probably true.

And he is there, standing and looking up at the bare branches, paws behind his back.

“There was fruit here, when we met.”

Judy comes to stand next to him. “Time passes, Nick. I had no idea you were so sentimental.”

He shrugs. “I hardly meant to be poetic. I’m hungry, I think.” They laugh together, breath mingling in the cold air. He turns to her, precisely as she turns to him.

“You’re leaving,” she says.

“I am. My father has business in the city, but he’d like to stay here. He’s asked me to take care of it.”

Judy nods. “For how long?”

“Through the spring, into the summer, I think.” He pauses. “I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you yet.”

“Hmm?”

“On your engagement?”

Judy starts. “Oh! Oh, yes. Thank you. It…is a happy thing, isn’t it?”

“Marriage usually is. He’ll make you a fine husband.”

“You’re fond of him as well then?”

Nick smiles. “Not the same way I am of you.”

“I should think not.”

The wind blows a small bank of snow over their feet. Nick helps her step out of it.

“…Miss Hopps.”

She sighs. “Yes, Mr.Wide?”

_So we are here again._

“I…I wondered if…well, what I mean to say—” He clears his throat. “It’s trite, I know this, and requires more imagination on my part than I have ever had, but…” He takes her paws in his. “Would dance with me, Miss Hopps? Just…one more time.”

Judy is surprised. “ _Dance_ with you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s no music.”

“I’m aware.”

“It’s _snowing._ ”

Nick looks up. “So it is.”

“I’m…I’m _engaged_ , Mr. Wilde.” The ring shines on her finger.

He nods. “Then we’ll leave it there. It was a fanciful suggestion, I know this.” He moves to pull away from her, but Judy keeps him close. “Miss Hopps…”

“You will not speak of it.”

“Not to anyone,” he murmurs.

“And it…will not happen again.”

“Not ever.”

Judy nods. “Then I will dance with you, Mr. Wilde.” She presses herself close, placing his paws where they need to be.

_One last time._

He smiles. It’s such a _good_ smile, she has liked it from the very start, she realizes.

_One last dance._

They move, drifting through snow as it continues to fall. His fur and coat are covered in it, and Judy can feel it weighing on her shoulders – or she can, at least, convince herself that the weight she feels is only snow, and nothing else.

 

* * *

 

“ _Well?_ ” Ben brushes snow from her shoulders and takes her coat. “What happened?”

Judy shrugs, moving to stand by the fire and warm herself, to dry her dress before her mother returns. “Nothing,” she says quietly.

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s true,” she insists. “He’s going back to the city on business. He only wanted to…to say goodbye.”

Ben groans, tugging on his ears. “ _Ugh_ , that’s _it?_ ”

Judy turns, snapping at him: “What _else_ was he supposed to say, Ben?”

“That he _loves you!_ ”

The words hit her, very cleanly, right through the heart.

_The feeling she could not name._

“That isn’t true,” she says, voice low so that she might convince them both. “Don’t say that again.”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t know,” Ben says, stepping closer. “Or that you don’t feel the same way.”

“I am _engaged_ ,” she says, instead of _I don’t._ “It was bad enough that I met him, worse that you keep insisting on this.”

“Judy—”

“What do you want to hear from me, Ben?”

Her brother shrugs. “I only know that you feel something for him, and you can’t do any of this to Gideon or yourself. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Gideon is _good_ —”

“No one’s ever doubted that.”

“Then enough with this. Enough with Nicholas Wilde, enough talk of love, _enough meddling in my life._ ”

Ben scoffs. “You _asked me to meddle._ ”

“And now I am asking you to leave this alone. Do not push it, and do not mention it to me again.”

“Fine.” Ben throws his paws up. “ _Fine!_ Marry Gideon, torture yourselves and be loveless and merely complacent. I’m sure you will have a happy, wonderful, mediocre existence together.” He says this as he walks out of the sitting room, stomping up the stairs. Judy closes her eyes, forces the tears stinging in the corners to retreat.

 _I am doing the right thing. I am doing the right thing. I am doing the right thing. I am_ —

 

* * *

 

True to their own words, it is the last time.

Judy pushes the dance out of mind, and out of sight, and throws herself into her wedding plans. A month after the proposal, she meets Mrs. Grey for the first time in so many years, and is welcomed warmly into the family home.

Everything is as it is supposed to be. And it is even her birthday. Gideon walks with her in the gardens and hands her something wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with a string.

“Happy birthday.”

“Gideon, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he insists. “I know it’s something you’ve wanted, and you’ve worked hard for it.”

Judy tears at the paper, eyes catching on the gold lettering, the cover of the book she has coveted for so long.

“ _Gideon._ ”

“It’s the one you wanted, isn’t it?”

Judy lets the paper fall, holding the book tight in her hands. “Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, it is.”

“I thought it was. I’m really happy that you—” He huffs as Judy throws her arms around him, pressing her face against his chest. He sighs, bringing his paws down to her shoulders. “You like it.”

“I _do._ ”

“I’m glad.”

Judy looks up at him. “I like the book. And I like you.”

“Well.” He smiles, reaching up to run a paw over the backs of one of her ears. “That’s all I can ask for, isn’t it?” He takes her arm, and they begin walking back into the house, out of the cold.

 _You could ask for more_ , she realizes. _But you won’t, because you know._

The honesty of him hits her, and it _hurts_ , more than she thought it might. He feels more for her than she does for him, and still, he wants to marry her.

It both endears him to her more, and makes her _hate_ herself all at once.

 _Am I wretched?_ she wonders. _I only want to do the right thing. I only want to do what’s best._

That night, she reads through the poems, leaving them on the bedside table, listening to Abby snore softly next to her. Outside, the world is quiet.

In her heart, the war rages.

 


	6. ingratiated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to say thank you to the amazing feedback i've gotten on this story, particularly in terms of your gideon feels. i love that character, and i want you to know he gets good vibes in the next (and last) chapter of this story coming up. please enjoy the mushy feel-good stuff here, because i enjoyed writing it.

It is a testament to how deeply he loves and respects his parents that Nick finds himself at the social event of the season, honoring the recent election of Leodore Lionheart to parliament. His mother’s last message had pleaded with him to go on the family’s behalf, and Nick had not hesitated to agree. Only his father’s note in addition to his mother’s gave him pause – _do not bring your ‘friends.’_ He’d smiled to himself – the thought of bringing Finnick to an event like this had crossed his mind more than a few times, but he would respect his parents’ wishes. He owed them that much, at the very least.

And so it is that he stands, back to the tapestries as he has a hundred times before, appetite diminished, exhaustion evident, watching couple dance around one another on the ballroom floor.

A voice from just above his waist pulls him out of his stupor. “The young Mr. Wilde. He deigns to grace us with his presence.”

Nick turns and gives the sheep a little bow. “Lady Bellweather.”

“It is Lionheart, my dear, if you’ll remember.” Nick only shrugs. “You are here on behalf of your parents?”

“They’re sorry they couldn’t make it, but send you and your husband their congratulations.”

“How very kind of them.” Bellweather sips from her wine glass, eyes never leaving Nick’s. He turns away. “Tell me. Has your mother passed on any gossip from the Burrows?”

“My mother doesn’t gossip. You know this.”

“Yes,” she says dryly. “I _do_ so often _forget_ about the moral superiority of the Wildes.”

“Say what you must,” Nick says, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing servant. If he’s going to listen to her babble for the next ten minutes, he may as well enjoy himself.

“I _heard_ that a certain rabbit has ended her engagement to a certain fox.”

Nick freezes, the glass pressed against his mouth. He forces himself to loosen his grip on the stem.

“Oh what _was_ her name?” Bellweather asks. “Julie? Jessie? Jenny—”

“Judy,” Nick says.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Bellweather shrugs. “I only thought that your mother’s interest in the girl, coupled with your own, would make it something you’d like to know. But, now that I remember your family’s collective disdain for news of the social kind, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“Why should I believe you?” Nick snaps.

She smiles. “For the same reasons why you shouldn’t, I suppose. Isn’t it _fascinating?_ A young rabbit of poor social standing, managing to throw her lot in with two of the wealthiest fox families now living outside the city? It must have been terrifying, the potential of living a life so beyond her station.”

Nick bristles. “That hardly matters. The Hopps are—”

“Farmers, Nicholas. Don’t convince yourself they are anything else, no matter how happy or successful they might seem. Julie—”

“ _Judy._ ”

“ _Whatever._ ” She waves a hoof. “She’d have been eaten alive in our world, and you know it.”

“Yes,” Nick snaps. “And you’d have been first in line.”

Bellweather smiles. “My dear boy. _You_ are the only one with fangs between us. Who’s to say you wouldn’t be the one dealing the damage?”

 

* * *

 

Nick returns to his flat that evening to find Finn and some of the other men he knows in town engaged in a rather loud and bordering on violent card game. It takes half an hour for most of them to clear out, and Nick throws the window in the sitting room open, waving out the smoke and fielding Finn’s half-hearted apologies.

“Thought you were going to be out longer.”

“I said you could _stay here_ , Finn. Not turn the place into a gambling den.”

Finn chuckles. “What’s crawled up your shirt and died? You’re itching for a fight.”

“It this stupid city,” he mutters. “These _people._ ”

“Didn’t used to get under your skin this way.”

“Yes, well, I’ve…I’ve changed.”

Finn huffs. “It’s the damn country. Does things to a fox’s head. You just need to be here a little longer. Get all that fresh air out of your system, among other things.” Nick turns sharply to him, but Finn’s expression is closed.

It doesn’t matter. Nick knows what he means.

“She’s not the issue,” he says, waving his paw and moving about the room to clean up after his _guests._

“Of course she’s the issue.” Finn picks up a still-smoking pipe, chewing on the end and puffing out. “She’s been the issue since you came back. You’re in love with that rabbit.”

“I am…in the process of remedying that situation.”

Finn chuckles. “What did you hear at this party?”

Nick sighs. “Is it that obvious?” Finn nods. “Rumors,” he says. “Nothing I can prove.”

“About her.”

“She’s supposedly ended her engagement to Gideon Grey.”

“ _Hah!_ I told you. I _told you_ , didn’t I? I told you that rabbit loves—”

“Oh, _do_ shut up,” Nick snaps. “There’s no reason she should or would ever reciprocate. She ended her engagement to one fox, what makes you think she’d be so willing to strike up one with another?”

“You think she ended it because of what he is?”

“That’s the logical assumption.”

“You need to stop assuming,” Finn says. “Or you’re gonna get yourself into more trouble than you’re already in.”

“I _need_ to distract myself.”

“Nuh-uh. You’re distracted enough. What you should do is go _back_ to that Burrow, tell that rabbit how you feel—”

“There’s still a month’s worth of work to do here, _at least._ ”

“Do it, then. Do it, and go back.”

Nick shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Finn shrugs. “Then I can’t help you.” He turns to leave, hand on the door knob. “I don’t know why you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared—”

“You are,” Finn snaps. “The Nick I knew five years ago wasn’t scared of anything. He’d have told that rabbit the truth. Wouldn’t have hidden in the dark and danced under trees. The Nick I knew remembered he came from the bottom, worked for everything, and deserved something _good._ ”

Nick sits down. “Do I deserve her, though?”

“Not if you don’t say anything,” Finn says. “Not if you keep all this to yourself.”

 

* * *

 

Nick finishes the work for his father just as summer is coming back into the city. He sweats through the entire carriage ride back to the Burrows, and is grateful to be back at Redwood, clean and changed and at his mother’s table again.

He’d missed her. Terribly.

“Drink your tea,” she says. “And eat up. You always get thinner when you go away, I don’t know _why_ you won’t eat.”

“He’s fine, Eliza.” Nick’s father is in good spirits – he hardly ever uses his wife’s nickname, and certainly not in front of their son. “Finish your food, though, Nicky. I want to go over a few things.”

“Darling, he’s exhausted. Give him some time—”

“Mother, it’s fine.” Nick spoons the last bite of soup into his mouth. “I’d like to talk about how things went, really. And I promise—” He stands and drops a kiss onto the top of her head. “I’ll eat better next time.”

“Oh, I wish there wouldn’t _be_ a next time. Not under these conditions. You know, there’s a lovely girl that the Rushes know, a nice vixen, she’d be very amicable to meeting you—”

“You can set your son up later, Elizabeth. Nick.” His father waves for him to follow, and Nick gives his mother one last squeeze of her shoulder before trailing after him. They walk in silence for a moment, before his father says, “You did good, Nick. In the city.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I confess I was worried,” his father says, rather sheepishly. “I know you’ve struggled there, in the past.”

Nick cringes. “There’s a precedent, sir. I can hardly blame you.”

“Well.” The door to the study opens. “I received only good news from my investors. They said you were a professional _joy_ , frankly. They’d love to work with you again.” His father smiles, clasping a paw over the back of his neck. “You did the Wilde name proud, son.”

Nick smiles. “Well, I figured it was about time I finally earned it.”

“…Earned it?” His father draws back, paws coming behind his back. “Nicholas, there was never any _need_ for you to earn your name. You had it, the moment your mother and I took you in. It was yours, from the very beginning. I only ever wanted you to own it, on your own terms. That’s all that means, my boy. That’s all it has _ever_ meant.” He sighs. “Besides, we both know you needed some time away from this place.”

“I…” Nick’s shoulders sag. “Yes,” he admits. “I did.”

His father nods. “You know that girl…she ended her engagement to Mr. Grey.”

“I heard.”

“Ah. Lady Bell—” His father smiles. “Lady _Lionheart._ She has a penchant for that sort of thing, if I remember.” He straightens. “You intend to see her, I suspect?”

“Why should I?”

His father chuckles. “I’m not ignorant of your feelings, Nick.”

“Jud— Miss Hopps hardly needs another fox to add to her burdens. I’m sure ending her engagement was a difficult choice to make.”

His father puts a paw on his shoulder. “That is what I admire about you, Nick. You…empathize. Far too well for your own good, really. But don’t let her choices dictate your own. You should seek her out. If it’s marriage you want—”

“ _Sir._ ”

“Then you should _ask._ ”

“Miss Hopps doesn’t want to marry me.”

“Yes,” his father says dryly. “I’m sure that’s what you’d assume, considering you have no actual knowledge of her desires.” He gives his son a push. “ _Go._ Stop waiting for the world to drop her at your feet. You want the rabbit, then _go get her._ ”

“…Father—”

“You are my _son._ And you deserve to be as happy as this world can let you be.” He turns away. “Now go, before I change my mind and give you a week’s worth of filing to do.”

Nick stands, frozen at his father’s side, unsure of the blessing he’s been given.

“ _Go!_ ” his father says again, laughing.

Nick snaps to attention. “Yes. Yes of course,” he says, and bolts from the room.

He can hear his father’s laugh, rich and royal, all the way to the front door.

 

* * *

 

She is in town, as he suspected she might be. But he doesn’t approach her.

He almost does – she’s leaving the post office, basket gripped in her paws, bonnet tied under her chin. She’s exactly as he remembers her, though her expression is not as…soft, as his memory has allowed.

And she’s followed. By whispers, by a few of the men. They don’t speak _to_ her, only _of_ her. Loudly, so that she might hear. Nick hangs back, doesn’t want to be the reason she turns around, doesn’t want to be the reason she fights back. Because she hasn’t, he knows that. And he also knows that she won’t. Judy Hopps is better than the rabbit they are making her out to be. And Nick won’t be the reason they talk any more than they already are.

“—believe she shows her face around just anybody,” another rabbit says, buying berries from a stall on the street.

“The Hopps are all like that. No shame whatsoever. You heard their son Ben asked that Parse girl—”

“Oh, _damn_ the Parse girl. She’d have brought a little pride to that family, if she’d accepted. It’s their father,” the rabbit says. “He’s a daydreamer, too many thoughts in that little head of his.”

“Their _mother_ is the one I always watched out for. Far too ambitious for her own good. Managing finances and raising children. One or the other must fall to the wayside, you know, and their books are always balanced.”

“Poor breeding,” the other agrees.

Nick does not speak. He won’t add insult to injury, be the fox that defends the unwanted family of the Burrows.

He leaves, before he can attract more attention to an already festering situation.

 

* * *

 

And he likes to think of the pear tree as _theirs_ , even though it was certainly hers first. Nick climbs the hill, realizes it is growing fruit once again, and knows it has been a year since he met her.

 _One year_ , he thinks. _And everything is different._

Who’d have thought it would take just a singular rabbit to change so _much_ about him? He’d become a lovesick, simpering fool, in Finn’s words. He’d become invested, in his father’s. He’d become softer around the edges, in his mother’s eyes. Any other situation, and he’d blame this air, this land, this _tree._

But, he knows – it was her.

Nick settles beneath its branches, enjoying the breeze and the shade. It’s soothing, being here. Even if he doesn’t see her today, or maybe _ever_ , he can take solace in this place, look in on his own pathetic need, and give his soul the rest it has probably earned.

He falls asleep, without meaning to, and it is more restful than any he’s had in weeks. A familiar sound rouses him, a soft song and a welcome rustle of fabric. Nick opens his eyes –

She is cresting the hill, her voice carrying a wordless tune, paw raised to shield her eyes from the sun, the other lifting her skirts.

He meets her gaze, just as she reaches the top –

And she _smiles._

Nick moves to stand, but he’s comfortable, here. And, frankly, he’d rather look up at her, rather remain at _her_ feet, let her reach down to him. He longs to be lifted, rescued from his own mental trappings. And Judy is the one to do it.

“Mr. Wilde,” she says, some feet from him. Her paws hang at her sides. “I…I heard you had come back to the Burrows.”

“My business in the city was finished.” She nods. “But that wasn’t my only reason.”

Judy smiles. “You…heard, I suspect.”

“Only rumors.”

“They’re true,” she confesses. “I…Gideon was so good to me. He cared so much. And I cared for…no. No I _do_ care for him. Truly. I hope you don’t think less of me. So many have. So many—”

Nick is still looking up at her. She’s come closer, and now he reaches out, taking her paws in his. “Nothing you could do would make me think less of you. Judy—”

“ _Nick._ ” She reaches down, cradling his jaw in her paws. “Nick, I _missed_ you. I missed you so—”

“Will you let me say it?” he asks. “May I, please?”

“Oh, _yes._ Yes, please—”

He takes her paws, bringing them to his mouth and pulling her down with him. “ _I love you_ ,” he breathes. “I have loved you for so long, now. I’ve spend the last months thinking of you, wishing I’d told you—”

“Let me say it,” she pleads. “Nick, let me—”

“ _Say it._ ”

She is on her knees, closer to him than they have ever been, noses touching. “I love you, Nicholas Wilde. I love you so _very_ much.”

He laughs. “You do.”

“Yes. _I do._ ” She smiles, reaching out to brush her paw under his chin. “Does it please you?”

“More than you could imagine.”

“Then you—”

“I’ll go to him. I’ll go to him now.”

“Nick—”

“If you’ll have me, if your family will have me—”

She laughs. “ _Yes_ , Nick. Yes, we’ll have you.” She brings his paws to her lips, now, closing her eyes. “We’ll have you, my love. Each and every one of us.”


	7. incandescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh. it's ended. i want to say thank you for being so lovely and responsive - there is some art that i'll link to later this week that was made for this story, and i'm so incredibly flattered and pleased. really, it's been an incredibly joy to write this story, and i'll actually miss it. as much as you've told me you look forward to reading another chapter, i've looked forward to writing one. if anyone is interested, i've got a list of songs that i've listened to while i wrote it, on spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/12137076740/playlist/6L8Dh1Qyd7dsgMDerKQZIf). again, thank you, and i hope you enjoy this closing chapter.

_Before…_

He watches her, and he is an outsider. He has been, since the beginning. There was never a true path to her heart, though she was willing to hold his paw in her own, to look up at him as they walked, to smile and touch his shoulder or right his collar.

Gideon… _feels_ for her. But they do not belong to one another.

They never will.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says. Her voice is so small, unnatural considering who she is. She is _Judy Hopps_ , vocal and right, indignant and proud – there is nothing small about her, but under his gaze she seems to shrink. So Gideon looks away.

“You haven’t,” he says.

“If I’d married you, if we had gone on—”

“But you’re ending it. So no harm has been done.”

“I agreed to, though, in the first place.”

“Didn’t you want to?” he asks, and now he looks back to her, now that her pitch has risen, her emotions palpable. “I asked you, and you agreed. That wasn’t a lie.”

Judy leans against the bookshelf in his study. “No,” she admits. “There was a moment when…when I could very much imagine myself becoming your wife.” She smiles. “It made me happy. Truly.” She moves toward him, reaching out to take his paws in her own. “Discovering that you and I could be amicable, could be _friends_ —” She gives them a gentle squeeze. “It has made me happier than I’ve been in ages, Gideon.”

He brings her closer. “If there was no one else…do you think that we—”

Judy frowns. “Gideon. There _is_ no one else.”

_Ah._

He laughs. “You’ll be able to tell me, then, with a straight face, that you _don’t_ love Nicholas Wilde?”

Judy’s eyes widen, but only for a moment. She extracts herself from him and turns.

“He has nothing to do with this.”

Gideon lets his arms hang by his side. “He has _everything_ to do with this.”

Judy shakes her head. “I was never untrue to you, I never—”

“I don’t say it,” he interrupts, “to accuse you of anything. Judy, it wasn’t _you_ who gave it away. It was him. The way he said your name…something about it always gave me pause. And then I saw him, just before he left the Burrow, at the winter’s ball. He watched you. And you…you watched him.”

“…Gideon.”

“Will you be honest with me?” Judy nods. “ _Do_ you love him? I don’t need excuses. Frankly, I don’t want them. If you’re going to end this, then I’d only like the truth. If it’s because of something I’ve done, I know you’d tell me. But if it’s because you love him…I’d like to know that as well, I suppose.”

For a moment, Gideon thinks she’s going to walk out of the room. There isn’t a sound to be heard – even their breathing seems to have stopped. He wants _so much_ to reach out and hold her, tell her that he isn’t angry, that he could _never be_ –

“Yes.” Her voice is small again. “I love him,” she says. “And _that_ is why I…I can’t marry you.”

Gideon breathes.

“Judy…” He reaches out to her, and she responds in kind, embracing him fully.

“I thought that it would go _away_ ,” she murmurs. “I thought I could stop feeling it. What I feel for you is…it’s so _strong._ It’s _different_ than love, but I was certain that it would make everything alright.” She presses tighter against him. “I was wrong, and I almost hurt you.”

“Don’t think that. Don’t _ever_ think that.”

“Can you forgive me?”

Gideon pulls back, reaching down to cup her cheek. “I still have you,” he says, “in my own way. There’s nothing to forgive, Judy. Because there’s nothing about this that I want to forget.”

 

* * *

 

_Now…_

Judy wipes her brow, brushing the dirt from her paws onto her apron. She’s been digging in the flower beds for close to three hours, but she and Mr. Otterton have finally planted the last of the hydrangeas, just in time for lunch. The roses will arrive tomorrow.

Mr. Otterton drinks deeply from a canteen, wiping his mouth with the back of his paw. “I must say, your taste in flowers is impeccable.”

Judy smiles. “It’s a family trait,” she explains, and steps out of the flower bed to kick the dirt off her boots. “I’m looking forward to meeting your wife for lunch today,” she adds.

“Oh, she feels the same. She appreciates the carriage ride as well, I’m sure.” Mr. Otterton glances out over the grounds. “You made the right decision not the cut down the trees, but I’ve no idea where they’ll dig out the new water feature. Any thoughts?”

Judy has several, but all her opinions have been shot down by the architect, who doesn’t seem to care for anyone, really, and frequently spits at her in French – as if she cannot understand.

“I haven’t given it a single thought,” she says. “But I’m sure Monsieur LeGrange would _love_ to speak about it with my husband.”

 

* * *

 

_Before…_

Nick stands awkwardly in Stu Hopps’ study, glancing around at the shelves that line the walls. He’d heard that the man was an academic in his own right, raised a houseful of children to be able to pick up work on the farm at a moment’s notice, and could build or fix just about anything. He’d invented every machine on his land that farmed the ground, but couldn’t be convinced or bothered to patent anything.

Not for lack of inspiration, Nick realizes, but more likely due to _debilitating_ disorganization. The study in question is chaotic.

The door opens, and Mr. Hopps steps inside, closing and bolting the door behind him. He gives Nick a quick once-over, and says quietly, “We haven’t met, Mr. Wilde. Not formally.”

“I hope you can forgive my rudeness.”

Stu waves a paw and settles into a crushed leather chair. “It hardly matters. Our Judy is…very fond of you. Ben and Abby sing your praises. When at least two of my children can agree on something, I start listening.” He leans back. “Tell me what you want.”

Nick breathes. He’s still trembling from the walk down the hill, Judy’s paw clasped in his own. He can’t think, can’t sort fantasy from fact, all the moments he dreamt of, becoming _real_ for him –

“Son. If you’ve got something to ask me, then you’d best go on and _ask me._ ” Stu’s voice isn’t angry. It’s…bright, really. Pleasant to hear. Meant to relax him, he supposes, even if asking a man for his daughter’s hand in marriage is… _terrifying._

“Sir,” he says, but his voice wavers. “ _Sir._ I…I’m very fond of your daughter as well. If you didn’t know me, or could not place me in a crowd, I have only myself to blame. I should have been more forthright with your family, let my intentions be known. Instead, there was…confusion.”

“Yes,” Stu says. “My daughter nearly married the _other_ fox.”

“Right.” Nick clears his throat. “I…would like your permission.”

“To?”

“To marry. Your daughter. To marry Judy.”

Stu leans forward, now, elbows perched on his knees, paws folded over one another and under his chin. He closes his eyes.

“Another fox stood here just months ago, and asked me the same thing. And if you could believe in, sometime before that, a rabbit stood here, and asked for Abby’s hand as well. I agreed each time,” he adds, “but not without asking a question of my own.”

“Anything, sir. I’ll answer anything.”

Stu nods. “Alright then,” he says, and stands. “I’ll agree. If you can tell me one thing. Why should I?”

Nick blinks. “Come again?”

“You’ll have my blessing,” Stu says, “if you can tell me _why_ you should have it at all? I don’t know you, but my daughter is enamored. You’ve done something I thought no one could do, and not because I didn’t think Judy was beautiful enough or worthy enough.” He shrugs. “She simply wouldn’t settle. And I am so _unbelievably proud_ of her, for following her heart when it came to Gideon Grey. And now, for following it when it comes to you. But tell me. _Why_ should I agree?”  

He could explain for hours about _why._ He could detail every second of the last year he spent thinking of her, every moment that was different or better _because_ of her – but that would take so long, and Nick can’t begin to explain.

So.

“You should agree,” he says, “because there is no version of me without _her_ that is worth knowing at all. I am better for having her near, and better for having loved her in the first place. She is as beautiful and worthy as you think she is. And I will spend every _moment_ of every _day_ , for the rest of my life, proving to her that I deserve her. I love your daughter. And I cannot imagine feeling any other way.”  

There is a beat of silence between them. Nick doesn’t dare to breathe, for fear he’s said the wrong thing, said something _terrible_ –

But the silence ends, and Stu closes the space between them and embraces Nick completely. As a father might his son. As Nick’s _own_ father has, so many times.

“Of course you may marry her,” he says, sniffing loudly and rubbing his paw under his eye. “Dang waterworks,” he mutters. “Go on, son, get out of here. Make it _count!_ ” he adds, as Nick rushes from the study and out of the house, bursting into sunshine and carnations and cut hay and –

_Judy._

“Nick—”

“Marry me,” he says, and drops to one knee before her, there in the garden, her mother and father and siblings crowding the doorway. Nick gropes in his pocket – _no ring, I have no ring, I have –_

He produces a silver band, and his expression is as awestruck as her own.

“Oh, _Nick._ ” The emerald at its center reflects sunlight onto her cheeks. “It’s _beautiful_ —”

“It…” He stares at it. “It was my mother’s.”

(Later, he will know that it found its way pocket of his coat when his mother embraced him at breakfast.)

(And later – he will tell Judy the story of his birth mother, and this ring, and the two foxes that took him in, made him their own, _made him_ Nicholas Wilde, but—)

_Right now._

He takes her paw in his. “Judy—”

“ _Yes._ Yes, Nick, I will marry you, I _will_ —”

And he cannot _stand_ himself – his heart is bursting, he wants to _lift_ her, to take her in his arms, spin her ‘round –

So.

He does.

 

* * *

 

_Now…_

He finds her in the garden, a book in her lap, tea going cold on the table. Judy always pretends she doesn’t hear him, allows him the pleasure of surprising her each time, letting her book tumble into the grace as he deftly kneels beside her, brushing his nose along the curve of her neck –

“You look exceptionally thoughtful this afternoon, wife. What are you thinking of?”

“I was reading, husband. I am allowed.”

He chuckles. “Quite.”

“It was kind of you to ride back with the Ottertons.”

“He wanted to talk about the roses. If the Wilde men weren’t married to actual women, you’d think we were both wedded to our _shrubbery_ ,” he mutters, and stands, paw resting easily on her shoulder. Judy leans into the touch. “He complimented your gardening skills. Told me it was the first time he’d dug in the dirt side by side with the lady of the house.”

“I will not stop _digging_ just because I’ve married—”

“I have no objection,” he murmurs, and bends low, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. “I did wonder, though. We’re dining with my parents in the evening, but my afternoon does appear to be free—”

“Are you asking what I think you’re asking? If so, speak plainly, husband. I’m very busy until then, and I don’t – _Nick!_ ” He _lifts her_ , right off the chair and into his arms. “Nick, my book—”

“Will _be there_ when we finish. If,” he adds, stopping just before the steps leading back into the house. “the lady is willing.”

Judy sighs, reaching out to stroke his ear and kissing his jaw.

“The lady is willing, Mr. Wilde.”

“Oh, Mrs. Wilde.” He holds her closer. “How convenient for us both.”


End file.
